


Chapter & Verse

by Anarion



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 222a/c ficlet, Fluff, Food, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Meetings through time and space, can be read as slash or not, can not be read as anything but LOVE though, meaning 222 words and ending in a word starting either with a or c for obvious reasons, whatever you prefer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-06-28 19:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarion/pseuds/Anarion
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have met a myriad of times. The TV series showed us a few of those meetings. This collection of stories will show you the other meetings, some funny, some sad, but all full of love.





	1. The night before the opening of the Great Exhibition, Hyde Park, 1851

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> „Watch your step!“
> 
> „Ow.“

„Watch your step!“

„Ow.“

„Careful, there is a tree. Go left.“

„Ow.“

„The other left. Don't step on the dandelions.“

„For Satan's sake, where are we going, angel?“

„Not far now. There's steps coming up, here, take my hand.“

Aziraphale extended his hand and Crowley took it without looking, knowing exactly where the angel's hand was in the dark. (He'd also known where the tree was, but he liked being dramatic.)

He let himself be pulled up a few steps and through a door, ending up in a room that was warm and moist. A small glasshouse. He ran head-first into a bougainvillea.

„Ow! It's dark as Beelzebub’s butt in here, what about some light, angel?“

Before the light, there came the sound of heavy raindrops on glass.

„What a relief, we got in before it started. You never liked the rain much, did you, my dear? Now, some light.“

A faint glow illuminated the glasshouse then and miraculously there was a bench to sit on.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Crowley grinned.

“Not really. It is the Great Exhibition after all. I’ll be busy for a while.”

“Some blessings? Some thwarting?”

“Hm. You?”

“The usual. Dinner after we're done?”

“I’d be delighted.”

Ten minutes later the rain stopped and both beings disappeared, leaving the glasshouse empty and the door gently swinging close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter of this story will recount one of their meetings, not in any kind of order.  
> I usually write in the 221b format for the Sherlock fandom. Atlin Merrick and Verity Burns encouraged me to try writing for Good Omens. I wanted a similar format, so we came up with 222 words (666 divided by three), ending in either _c_ or _a_.  
> Each chapter will be prompted by cards from a game called 'Paint Chips Poetry', artfully composed by Atlin Merrick and Verity Burns.  
> First prompt by Rox712 and Londongypsy:  
> 


	2. Around the world, 1991

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale stares out the window of his bookshop into the rain and is angry with himself.

Aziraphale stares out the window of his bookshop into the rain and is angry with himself. He should not miss Crowley. He should not wait for him to come. Opposite sides and all that. 

To distract himself, he goes travelling, taking blessing and thwarting orders all over the world. (Gabriel is very impressed!) But wherever Aziraphale goes, the demon is on his mind. Everything he sees reminds him of the demon.

North America: The red of the old barn reminds him of Crowley’s hair (which he secretly has wanted to run his hands through since 4004 BC).  
Australia: The lush green of the rain forest reminds him of Crowley’s plants (that he shouts at and pretends to kill, just to thrust the offending greenling into his neighbour’s hands, because she runs a flower shop and will give them a new home).  
Sweden: The cluster of chanterelles he sees while walking through the forest, aglow in a single sunbeam, reminds him of Crowley's eyes on the rare occasions he felt comfortable and safe enough to take his glasses off. 

In the end Aziraphale just gives up trying to find a sensible (work-related) reason to go and see Crowley. He just goes because he misses him and seeing him makes him happy. Although that (sadly) is not a thing that will ever be admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atlin Merrick, Verity Burns and I kept throwing possible titles around and the one I laughed most about was 'Hips and Haloes'! :D
> 
> Picture Prompt: 


	3. London, 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley returned home to his door being completely blocked by parcels wrapped in brown paper.

Crowley returned home to his door being completely blocked by parcels wrapped in brown paper.

“What?” He stared for a while, then tore the parcel wall down to get to his door, taking one parcel inside. It was blank but for his name. What??

He snapped his finger to miracle all the parcels inside. He unwrapped a Fulgor Nocturnus and the key to a yacht before he stopped because WHAT???

Then he remembered. Walking with Aziraphale past people throwing pennies into a fountain and making fun of them for hoping their wish would come true, because _hello, demon here_!

He picked up the phone, because he now also remembered passing a fountain after too many shared bottles in the bookshop that evening and wishing for a few things, just to prove that it didn’t work (really, he was not hoping any of it would come true, especially not the last wish about going for a beach walk with Aziraphale).

“Angel, did you by any chance bless the fountain in Soho Square?”

“Crowley? Yes, of course, I blessed all of London's fountains.”

“Bollocks.”

He slammed the phone down and promised himself to never go near a wishing well again. He would, however, keep all the parcels. And go on the beach walk. Just to see what the opposition was up to, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> 1\. There is no fountain in Soho Square, but there should be. 😉  
> 2\. Fulgor Nocturnus ist he most expensive pen I could find. I imagined he just wished for extravagant things, maybe he researched expensive pens to give one to Aziraphale? :D  
> 3\. Picture prompt:  
> 


	4. London, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door to the bookshop slammed open, startling Aziraphale into dropping the CD case he was holding.

The door to the bookshop slammed open, startling Aziraphale into dropping the CD case he was holding.

“Crowley, what on Earth are you doing?”

“Waiting in the car for you for twenty minutes. You are _late_.”

Aziraphale ignored the glare shot his way from behind shaded sunglasses and glanced at the clock. “Oh, you are absolutely right. My apologies!”

He leaned down to pick the CD up. Crowley looked at his bent form, thought about averting his eyes and then remembered that he was a fiend from hell and could therefore look at butts as much as he wanted.

“Angel, what are we waiting for?”

“I thought I could extend your CD collection.” He proudly thrust the case in Crowley’s hands. It was pink and blue, had people in garish colours and… were those silver things balloons?

“ _’Disco Fever’_? Are you serious?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s _Disco Fever_!”

“And that’s not good?”

“Well, it was good while it lasted, but I think everybody was glad when it was over.”

“So you don’t want the CD?”

Aziraphale extended his hand to take the case back. Crowley took a step back and managed to not press it to his chest possessively. It was a present from Aziraphale and would therefore be cherished. It would also turn into a Queen CD soon enough anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture prompt:  
> 
> 
> This is what the CD cover looks like: ['Disco Fever'](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disco_Fever_\(album\)#/media/File:Disco_fever_cover.jpeg)


	5. Rome, 64 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rome became a favourite place for the two of them for a while, shortly after they had oysters at Petronius’.

Rome became a favourite place for the two of them for a while after they had oysters at Petronius’. It all ended in 64 AD in fire and flames.

A couple of hours after the fire was finally extinguished (with a little help from above, after Aziraphale arrived), the two of them walked through the destroyed city.

They walked past the remnants of a bronze statue of Apollo and Crowley spoke for the first time since they arrived.

„I _liked_ that statue!” He sounded way too sad for a demon. Aziraphale gently waved his hand and the statue was whole again. Crowley pretended not to notice.

An hour later they stood in front of the smouldering ruin that once was their favourite eatery. Not even an angel could save anything here.

They stood in silence until there was a soft noise. Shortly after, a dirty but otherwise unharmed furry thing crawled out from under the rubble and tiptoed straight towards Crowley.

Crowley gently picked up the kitten and tucked it into his toga until nothing but the nose was visible. The kitten started purring immediately. Aziraphale felt a strange, almost pleasurable pain in his chest at the sight.

“You coming, angel?”

Crowley turned and started walking away, Aziraphale falling in beside him and together they left the scene of smoke and ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RL is killing me... Updates might be sporadic until October. :/
> 
> Picture Prompt: 


	6. Dublin, 2019

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here, try this one!”

“Here, try this one!”

Aziraphale held the cone up to Crowley's face in mid-stride which resulted in him planting his nose right in the middle of the salted caramel scoop.

“Way too buttery, angel,” he said, after licking his nose (snake tongue, very practical!). “That's like licking sweetened butter.”

“I like it.” Aziraphale sounded almost affronted. He then seemed to go to a particularly happy place for the next ten minutes that it took for the huge scoop to disappear.

“3,50 seems a bit over-prized, though, don't you think? Angel?”

But Aziraphale was already on his way to the next shop that offered ice-cream and not listening.

“Look, Crowley! They have candyfloss-flavoured ice!” He beamed.

“That's blue and pink...” He was talking to thin air again, because Aziraphale had entered the shop to get more ice cream.

Shortly after he returned with the blue and pink striped abomination, frowning.

“3,50. That seems a bit over-prized, don't you think?”

“That's what I just... Nevermind. Must be the ice cream mafia.”

“Is that one of your evil schemes? You can't ruin ice cream, Crowley!”

“I didn't! The humans came up with this completely on their own!”

Aziraphale calmed down again and Crowley materialised a cup of tea, because he had a feeling his angel was about to complain that he was cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I visited Atlin Merrick in Dublin recently and we had a lot of ice cream-type desserts, which is actually totally unrelated to this story.  
> Before I get completely derailed by thoughts of ice-cream, let's get to the prompt part: One evening we were walking past a group of men and one of them was telling the others about "the ice-cream mafia". Sadly we didn't hear more than that, but immediately agreed that we both needed to write about it. Preferably _in all the fandoms_ we write in. You may expect an ice-cream mafia themed Sherlock story soon! :D
> 
> Anyway, this story is for you, you amazing ice-cream-addicted wonder! *smooches Atlin*
> 
> Edit: Atlin wrote a Sherlock story for the same prompt called ['The Ice Cream Mafia'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21093794/chapters/50187983)  
> and I wrote the above mentioned ice-cream mafia themed Sherlock story called ['Ice ice baby'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21121346).
> 
> .


	7. France, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Crowley was just about to tempt the blonde barista from the Parliament’s caterer into mistakenly add hard liquor to everyone’s coffee when he felt it: A wave of panic and distress from Aziraphel.**

Crowley was just about to tempt the blonde barista from the Parliament’s caterer into mistakenly add hard liquor to everyone’s coffee when he felt it: A wave of panic and distress from Aziraphel. He decided that political mayhem was not as important, and Hell wouldn't appreciate his idea anyway.

He miracled himself to where Aziraphel was, which turned out to be a nice little hotel dwarfed by tall pine trees right by the seaside, and stepped into the room to see the angel looking slightly dishevelled and very agitated.

He was waving his hands as if being attacked by a hysterical firefly while talking so fast at two staff members that at first Crowley only heard words like 'disaster', 'tragedy' and 'dramatic'.  
It still didn’t make any sense once he understood additional words like 'pastry', 'french' and 'tragic loss'.

“Angel, slow down. Nobody can understand you.”

Aziraphel blinked at him. “Crowley? What are you doing here?”

“So far I've been listening to you ramble. What did you do? Kill a pastry chef?”

“What? No! I was about to have breakfast – they have these delicious pastries here – and I put it in the toasting device and.... and...” 

“Is this a food emergency? Don't tell me I came here because you set a croissant on fire.”

“Excuse me. It was a _pain au chocolat_!”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was inspired by the true story of _someone_ setting a pastry on fire when I visited Atlin in Dublin. :D
> 
> I combined it with this rather fitting picture prompt:  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> The paint chip cards are from a box called 'Paint Chip Poetry' by Lea Redmond.


End file.
